


Until The Stars Fall From The Sky

by lovesense



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Early Mornings, Established Relationship, Fluff, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-11
Updated: 2014-10-11
Packaged: 2018-02-20 18:01:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2437922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lovesense/pseuds/lovesense
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock is still unsure about John's feelings for him after all this time. Add an early morning and banter and you get a load of lovely moments.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Until The Stars Fall From The Sky

**Author's Note:**

> This is my first completed and published fanfiction EVER. I'm a bit nervous to post this, but I know that it will be nice to look back on it as I improve and make progress in my writing and characterisation.
> 
> There isn't much point to this fanfic, if I'm being totally honest. I just decided to write what my favourite kinds of Johnlock fics are, and went from there.
> 
> I also don't have a proofreader or anyone to even remotely help me edit this, so any mistakes are solely my own fault!

 

> Baby, I'm yours   
>  And I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky,   
>  Yours, until the rivers all run dry   
>  In other words, until I die   
>   
>  Baby, I'm yours   
>  And I'll be yours until the sun no longer shines,   
>  Yours, until the poets run out of rhyme   
>  In other words, until the end of time 

 

John had been deep in sleep, dreaming of guns and chasing criminals when he felt it. There was a firm nudge on his chest, and a persistent voice near his ear had been calling his name. Repeatedly. He knew instantly that Sherlock was trying to wake him up, but he also knew it wasn’t important, or he would most likely have been pushed off the bed by that stage. He kept his eyes closed with the slight hope that Sherlock would leave him alone, but to no avail.

“John.”

“Mm?”

“John.”

“Yeah, love?”

“ _John._ ”

He squinted tiredly at Sherlock, and through his bleary eyes and the early-morning darkness, he could make out Sherlock’s figure, knees against the side of John’s thigh and torso twisted towards their pillows. His curls were in disarray from sleep and the relentless fiddling of John’s fingers in his hair. In the same way that Sherlock knew his violin, every dent and bump memorised like the back of his hand, John knew every curl and wave of Sherlock’s hair. It was a habit he indulged in whenever he could - tangled together in the middle of the night, with Sherlock’s head resting on his lap when he simply couldn’t stay awake any longer, in the taxi ride home after a tiring case - and it seemed that Sherlock enjoyed it almost as much as he did.

“John, if you fall asleep again I’ll-"

“Hey, I’m still here, it’s alright. What’s wrong?” He lifted an arm, still heavy with sleep, to stroke Sherlock’s cheek as his eyes adjusted to the unabating darkness in their room. He felt Sherlock tip his head towards his palm as he stroked, and they both remained unspeaking, letting the tranquility of the early morning and their slow breathing soothe them into a doze.

It wasn’t until Sherlock saw John’s eyes drooping and felt his hand start to slow that he snapped to full alertness again, pulling John out of their comforting silence with him. “John, I need to talk to you. Please don’t fall asleep,” he threatened, leaning closer towards John so he could put a hand on either shoulder and touch his mouth to the shell of John’s ear, “or I’ll set another kidney on fire in the flat.”

“Sherlock, do that and I will personally make sure Molly never gives you another one again, and I mean it.”

“There are other ways to get a kidney, you know. I have connections, I know people,” Sherlock argued and sat back on his haunches so he could glare at John. “Besides, I could always get a kidney from you,” he said, quirking an eyebrow at his partner with only a hint of the humour he was trying to conceal peaking out from under his mask of seriousness.

“Very funny, love, except you’d miss me too much if you had to kill me for my kidney,” John smirked, gently running a hand along Sherlock’s side.

“Who said anything about killing you, John?”

“Who said I still have two kidneys?”

“I know your medical history.”

“You’re an arse.”

“As are you.”

“I love you, though, arse or not. You know that, right?” John was suddenly serious, stilling his movement on Sherlock’s waist to gaze at him.

Sherlock let out a sigh, leant down to kiss John on the cheek and then returned the look John was giving him with equal intensity. “How could I not? You manage to tell me at every free moment.”

“Mm, good. I love you more than anything, more than anyone, yeah?”

“Yes, John. And I love you, too, more than I love the kidneys Molly gives me,” he whispered and pressed a light kiss to the corner of John’s upturned mouth, lingering long enough to feel John laugh against his lips.

“Come here,” John said, wrapping both arms around Sherlock’s back and pulling him down so his body covered half of John’s, faces close and their breathing aligned. “God, Sherlock, you’re so perfect. I fall further in love with you every day, every hour, every bloody minute we spend together. You’re intoxicating, you know? Even when you spend half an hour talking about a case, or when you’re in a strop, I can’t help myself. You’ve drugged me, you’ve pissed me off, you’ve nearly gotten yourself killed more times than I can count and I’m still absolutely gone on you. What am I supposed to do with you, hm?” His voice had lowered to a whisper and he was looking at Sherlock reverently.

Sherlock had become silent, his breath stuttering and his eyes fluttering. _Mind palace_ , John thought. He ghosted the back of his hand over Sherlock’s cheek, being careful not to interrupt whatever had pulled the man into his own mind, but also wanting to keep him grounded there, in the bedroom with John. He waited patiently, watching the cogs and gears turn and work in Sherlock’s eyes, and willed himself not to fall asleep again. He knew Sherlock still wanted to talk to him, and he wasn’t going to be the reason for another one of his jumpers to go missing, or for the kitchen to be disassembled.

It took ten minutes before John saw Sherlock leaving his mind palace, inhaling deeply and swallowing. “ _John._ ”

“Yes, baby?”

Sherlock’s eyes gleamed at the endearment, teeth digging into his bottom lip subconsciously, but John could sense the anxiety that radiated off Sherlock. “I-I don’t know what to say. I’m scared of this; I’m scared of what we have. Before you, before us, I didn’t depend on anyone else. I was by myself, and I didn’t need anyone else. It scares me that you’re different, that I need you. That if you leave me, I can’t go back to my old self. My love for you, John, it’s unfathomable. The way I feel for you has changed me. I’m a different person. I can’t go back to my old self, but what if I have to? What if you stop finding me tolerable? What if I hurt you past the point of forgiveness? I don’t know, John, and I’m scared of not knowing.” His chest heaved as he finished, trembling hands covering his face.

John took a moment to breathe, to process what Sherlock had told him, disbelieving. He moved Sherlock’s hands away from his face cautiously, and tilted his chin so he was looking at John again. “This is what you wanted to tell me, isn’t it? Alright, Sherlock, listen to me. I am never going to leave you again. Never. We’ve both fucked up, and we’ve both done things that we shouldn’t have. But we’re still here, and we’re still here _together_. I’m not lying when I tell you I love you, Sherlock, and I’m not lying when I tell you I’m not leaving. Since the very first day we met, love, we’ve been inseparable. Even when you died, and when I was with Mary,” he paused, brushing a finger over Sherlock’s cheekbone as he tensed at her name, “Hey, it’s alright, I’m almost done. So even with all the terrible things we’ve been through, we somehow find a way to come back to each other every time. I think we’re both in too deep for that to change, now, regardless of if you act like an insufferable git from time to time. I know it’s terrifying to feel like this, Sherlock, but I’m not going to leave you again. I can’t do that to either of us.”

That was all it took for Sherlock to lean down and press his lips against John’s. Both their lips were dry; their breath stale from sleep, but John could feel the intensity behind the kiss, the meaning of Sherlock’s lips moving against his. He ran his tongue against his bottom lip, feeling the indents from where his teeth had been just before, and nipped gently. He snaked his fingers around Sherlock’s curls and tugged, pulling him closer.

They stayed that way; lips moving together, Sherlock’s forearms framing John’s head and John’s fingers in Sherlock’s hair, until John pulled away with a smile. “Baby, it’s four in the morning and I have a shift at eight. If it’s okay with you, I’d fancy a kip.”

“I like it when you call me that,”

“Call you what? Baby?” John asked. He still had his hand in Sherlock’s hair, and he twisted a curl around his index finger as he licked his lips. When Sherlock gave a slight nod, he kissed him again, open-mouthed and intimate. He hooked his ankle around the back of Sherlock’s legs and flipped them, Sherlock lying underneath him with his arms wrapped around John’s neck. John moved his mouth over Sherlock’s jaw, pressing light kisses down his neck and across his collarbone until he reached the top of his sternum. “You’re adorable. You really are.”

“ _John_. I am _not_ adorable,” Sherlock said, trying to act affronted whilst baring more of his neck for John to kiss as he moved back up Sherlock’s body.

“If you’re going to defend yourself, at least do it when you don’t look like this,” he laughed, running a hand down Sherlock’s stomach and playing with the hem of his shirt.

John thought that Sherlock always looked most gorgeous at night and in the morning, especially when he had just woken up. Even at that moment, with Sherlock completely awake but in his pyjamas, John just wanted to kiss him and kiss him. His hair was even more tussled than usual, his eyes were dark and wide, lips a touch swollen from kissing, and his worn cotton t-shirt and blue pyjama bottoms made him look soft and laid back. He moved his hand under Sherlock’s shirt, feeling his way up his stomach until he reached the scar under his heart, the tissue still uneven and smoother than the rest of his skin, even after so long. John rubbed his thumb over the scar, thinking about the whole Mary ordeal. Even when he found out who she really was, and what she had done, he stayed with her. _Even when she shot Sherlock_. He shook away the thought, trying to focus on the present, what they were now.

“No,” Sherlock whispered, “I know what you’re doing. Stop blaming yourself. Please.”

“I know, I’m trying not to,” he said, rubbing the scar once more before taking his hand out from under Sherlock’s shirt, smoothing it over his hips. Before he could stop himself, John yawned expressively, rubbing his eyes and sniffing. “Alright, I’m not going to be awake for much longer. Will you stay here with me?” he asked, pushing a curl away from Sherlock’s forehead and giving him a kiss there.

Sherlock contemplated for a moment, mouth screwing up as he thought about experiments and plans for the day and if he really needed more sleep but something about the way John was looking at him stopped him from getting up. “Okay. I guess I don’t have to go the Yard straight away, Lestrade will probably be thankful,” he reasoned, and when he tried to stifle a yawn, John laughed.

“Budge up, giant. I’d appreciate it if I could sleep on _my_ side of the bed, you berk.”

When Sherlock had moved over enough for John to slide next to him, he gave John a small smile. “You’re amazing,” he whispered, shuffling close enough to kiss John and proceeded to wrap himself around John’s side.

“I love you so much, baby. Always, forever.”

“I know. I love you too.”

Eventually, they both fell asleep, Sherlock attached to John like an extra limb with his leg over both of John’s and his arms on John’s chest. Even with a mouthful of dark curls restricting his breathing, John slept soundly with dreams of soft cotton and kisses.

**Author's Note:**

> The title for this fic and the lyrics at the start were derived from the song 'Baby, I'm Yours' by Arctic Monkeys.


End file.
